black is the colour
by scarlet-egg
Summary: When he can't sleep, he watches the shadows on the ceiling.


Artemis lay in bed, staring in the ceiling and the shadows drifting around it. He had been doing this for quite some time - arms flat by his sides, under the covers - but it had yet to become any more interesting.

A normal teenager, when greeted with an inability to sleep or to calm their thoughts, would have been tossing and turning. A normal teenager would have at least _considered_ throwing something across the room, maybe even stamping their foot. A _normal_ teenager would have given up on sleep all together, and flopped down in front of the tv.

But Artemis Fowl was decidedly _not_ a normal teenager, and even if his will was weak enough to be defeated by a little frustration, he did _not_ have a television in his room. He could trek downstairs to the one in the lounge, of course, but that would only draw attention to his plight, and there was nothing he had less interest in than _talking_ about his plight.

Even his computer held no appeal.

So he lay in bed, and stared at the ceiling, and counted the shadows, and he - well, he didn't _brood_ exactly, but he was doing some pretty deep thinking that had little to do with logic and reason.

There were one thousand and fifty three dots in the designs that covered his ceiling tiles. Even if he hadn't know this, it would have taken him under a minute to calculate it - which he did, just to be sure.

Artemis sighed, under his breath, and decided to try the tossing and turning - it worked so well for his peers, and though it was easy to forget, he _was_ still human. He rolled onto his side so he was facing the wall, and kicked his foot out an inch. He frowned intently, and waited.

And waited.

He rolled onto his back again, and went back to staring at the shadows. It was too cold to have the window open, but the air conditioning sent a soft breeze through the room to stop the air going stale - it was preferable, besides. The curtains were closed, but a sliver of light still crept through one edge, which explained the shadows.

Artemis sat up, back pressed against the headboard, and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it. It was not a nervous gesture, but a carefully calculated act - it just did nothing to ease his tension. Evidently, as with most things, what everyone _else_ did was wrong.

There was no reason to pursue this course of action. It would achieve nothing, and he had obligations to fulfill in the morning.

He plucked the small box up from his bedside table, considered it, and pressed a button. He had to wait four seconds.

"Mud boyy." It was more of a groan than a statement, voice thick with sleep. "Did you _really_ miss me so much you couldn't wait until morning?"

Artemis paused, his prepared greeting dying on his lips. The question startled him, but not as much as the fact he couldn't think of a single snappy response - and his silence went on far too long.

"Artemis?" Holly's next question was one of concern, with all traces of grogginess gone from her tone. It wasn't hard to imagine her sitting up now, frowning. "Are you there?"

"Yes." The teenager roused himself from his thoughts, shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear the cobwebs. "So-" Just in time, he caught himself, breaking off the apology mid-word. "-how did your mission go?"

It was unimpressive stumble, to say the least, but it didn't take a genius to know an apology - coming from _him_, over something so inane - would be far more concerning than -

- well -

- whatever _that_ just was.

"I-" Holly began to answer, stopped for a few seconds, and tried another tactic. "Are you _okay_?"

"Yes," he answered more easily, confidently on solid ground now. "I just wanted to make sure _you_ were." But that sounded less convincing than he would have liked, so he whipped out his Secret Weapon - used only on _very_ special occasions, since his magic wasn't so easily replenished with an acorn and some dirt. "I called earlier, but you ... didn't answer. I considered that something may have gone wrong."

There was just enough hesitant guilt in his tone to prompt the same from the fairy - he had that done to a fine art, now, although it hadn't required much practice. Sometimes he suspected that Holly had figured out the game by now - she knew him well enough to call out his faked emotions every other time, after all - but that didn't stop it _working_.

"Sorry, mud _boy_," Holly shot back, predictably trying to hide her reaction with irritation. He smiled to himself. "Radio silence and all that, you know."

"It was a success?" he persisted, unsurprised.

Another pause.

"I can neither confirm nor deny that," she recited, calmly.

"Even to me?" Artemis asked, raising an eyebrow. _Surely_ it was common knowledge by now that he could find out if he _wanted_ to, so why would they bother trying to hide it?

"_Especially_ to you," she agreed, and the undertone of amusement was clear. Naturally, even if he _hadn't_ been planning to do some investigating, now he _had_ to. Any time anyone tried to keep something from him, it tended to be in his best interests to find out the details.

Again, he became lost in his thoughts and the pause went on too long.

"Well," he stated, impulsively breaking the silence.

"Well," said Holly, at the exact same time.

This time the pause was because they were waiting for the _other_ to speak first, and Artemis sighed under his breath, closing his eyes.

This was _hardly_ a complicated situation. Why was it so difficult?

"If that's _all_..." his friend ventured first, trailing off vaguely. The offer was there - _very_ there - but she wasn't going to pry directly and demand to know what was troubling him.

He wondered if that _was_ all.

Yes, of course it was.

"Yes," Artemis agreed, opening his eyes. The wall looked just the same as when he had closed them, which was hardly surprising. "I'm pleased you are still alive, Holly."

"Oh, _please_," she snorted, and he could imagine her shaking her head in wry amusement. "As if _that_ really worried you."

He didn't answer - and her silence was surprised. He tried to think of some witty way to end the conversation casually, and came up short.

No pun intended, naturally.

"_Well_," Holly said again, more sobered now. Clearly, she was going to respect his privacy, since this wasn't a matter of security for both their worlds. "It's late. You should sleep."

Butler passed by his door, soft footsteps across the carpet. Artemis waited until the sounds had stopped, and lowered his voice anyway.

Not that he was _worried_ about being overheard, doing nothing at all of note.

"Yes," he agreed, and realized how redundant a reply that was now. There was no choice but to tactfully retreat, and try the battle again in the morning, when he knew what his goal even _was_. "Goodnight, Holly."

"Goodnight, Artemis," came her pleasant response, with a hint of a smile. His finger was just pressing against the button, when she added - "Oh."

Artemis froze. It was a small, soft sound - probably not even meant for his ears. Even if it wasn't, the polite thing to do would be to ignore it.

"Oh?" he echoed cautiously, with several horrible possibilities for her surprise flitting through his mind. They were all dismissed the next second, if only because he had more than enough confidence in her ability not to be so shocked by a sudden threat.

"I almost forgot," she told him, loud enough that he didn't have to strain to hear her. "Merry Christmas."

"Christmas?" He frowned slightly, puzzled. "I didn't know you _celebrated_ Christmas."

_That_ was a rather large hole in his reconnaissance of their customs. It would have to be rectified immediately - who knew what _else_ he had missed?

"We don't," Holly answered, and this time it seemed like her smile was _very_ loud. It took only a second for the implication to sink in, and he felt the corners of his own lips turn up.

"I see," Artemis agreed - and he did. He allowed a pause so he didn't sound _too_ eager to return empty pleasantries, but not so long that it became awkward. "Merry Christmas, Holly."

"Goodnight," she told him, and the smile was present, even though her words were quieter.

"Goodnight, Captain Short," he said, and he _almost_ heard a laugh, just before the connection cut out.

Well - maybe it was just his imagination. There was clearly the time for him to start hearing things that weren't there.

He sat for a minute longer, finding the weight of the box in his hand strangely comforting. Then, carefully, he placed it back on the bedside table and slipped back beneath the covers. The frustration seemed to have eased away, though he still felt no need to sleep.

It would be obvious to his mother he hadn't slept, he suspected, but she would not worry too much about it - there were behaviours expected of children on Christmas Day, and he believed this was one.

It seemed very far away that he would have to worry about that, however, and with the implication of laughter still ringing in his ears and a smile tugging at his lips, he returned staring at the ceiling.

It wasn't _much _of a breeze from the air conditioning, but it was just enough to tease the sprig of holly dangling from his curtain rod; it was those shadows he was so distracted by.

But of _course_ it was. He had calibrated it himself, after all.

Holly stared at her communicator, one hand covering her mouth as the laughter trickled off. It wasn't even funny, and she hoped he hadn't heard her, but the idea he _might_ have prompted a strange feeling of embarrassment she wasn't used to.

Small favours he was the _only_ one she had to worry about, the fairy thought, and lay back down. It was heaven to be alone, snuggling into the soft bed with the blankets tugged up over her shoulders, and she delighted in the comforting silence.

The fairy was pretty sure she was so tired even her _teeth_ were aching, and it was a miracle she'd even heard the communicator go off at all while she was drifting off to sleep. There was no doubt in her mind that not even the gates of hell opening would rouse her once she really got going.

So it was a good thing he wouldn't be calling again - what would would he _have_ to? Come to think of it, she wasn't even sure why he had called the _first_ time. She didn't buy for a second that it was just to check up on her, because Artemis didn't simply _check up_ on people. It was more likely he wanted a favour, and was just choosing to wait until she was more awake - and in a better mood - before enlisting her assistance.

Yes, that made more sense.

But she hadn't got that _impression_ - or that he had any ulterior motive at all. How very baffling.

It wouldn't take much effort to reach over and place the communicator on the ground, even so tired as she was - and since he wasn't going to call back, there was no _reason_ to keep holding onto it, and risk rolling onto it in her sleep and crushing it. (A mistake she had made once, many years before - and it had taken almost that long before everyone else _forgot _about it.)

Yes, Holly was confident in this - it _was_ basic logic. Despite not being a genius, she managed to reach that conclusion without getting lost - the risk outweighed the faint chance, the _very_ faint chance, that she might miss another call from a human, annoying her at ungodly hours.

Which was why, ten minutes later, when she was breathing deeply and definitely asleep, her hand was still wrapped around the small box.

You know - just in _case_.


End file.
